


blocked vision

by fcllencngels



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ??? technically?, Angst, Blind!Shiro, Blood, Graphic Description, M/M, Magical shit, Post Season 5, Self-Harm, idek what to tag this with folks, im also p sure this is the first non shippy fic i've written y'alll should be proud, is that even a tag, it's just sadddd hopefully, severe tagged just to be safe, some season 4 stuff tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fcllencngels/pseuds/fcllencngels
Summary: Shiro remembered, once in the past, that there were five steps to any action, any event, any resolution.These are Shiro's five.





	blocked vision

**Author's Note:**

> Post s4 mel: writes an angsty keith [short](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12368448) instead of gov notes  
> Post s5 mel: writes an angsty shiro short instead of gov notes  
>  _déjà vu_
> 
> anyway i've become queen of writing only 1-2k words it's lovely

I.

He should have known better.

 

He’s unbelievably proud of Keith, of the work he’s done in Shiro’s disappearance, and even when he steps in Black, the aura he had familiarized himself with also carries a serious weight that he instantly recognizes as Keith’s.

 

His time away had changed so much, and when he had seen Allura running off towards the lions, the unfamiliarity had struck a strange chord inside him, and even stranger was the fact that Keith wasn’t by his side as he had been for so long.

 

But he has little opportunity to think that far, and his arms, already gripping Black’s controls, has failed to stir the lion from her slumber.

 

No, it’s something else.

 

It’s apprehension, rising up all around him, and Shiro tries again, internally begging Black to recognize him, and in a moment of desperation, Keith’s annoyance towards Red, all too long ago, rises like a dismembered memory.

 

“ _ It’s me, Keith, your paladin.” _

 

Words had never better fit a situation, but Shiro bites the words back, asking one last time, begging for another chance.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the cockpit.

 

He thinks then, that maybe it’s not everyone else that’s changed, but rather him, and his time in captivity has rendered him useless to the team as a whole.  

 

So he steps down, let’s Keith take the charge for now, and hopes that one day, Black will accept him again.

 

–

  
  


II.

It’s something strange enough for his brain to strike a response, but between Commander Holt’s rescue, and Zarkon’s death, it’s not something that comes to Shiro until much later.

 

Lotor had had four generals, but that day, between the prisoner exchange and the fight that had ensued in the Galran craft, Shiro had only counted three.

 

It’s enough of a difference to make Shiro curious, and when he finds Lotor, alone on the bridge, staring at the star maps displayed around him, he finds enough courage to voice the question that’s been lingering in his mind.

 

“What happened to Narti?”

 

Lotor’s reply is anything but instantaneous, and if Shiro hadn’t already been familiar with the mannerisms of the new Emperor, he wouldn’t have noticed anything, but the slight tightening between the Galran’s shoulders is enough for Shiro to expect an answer.

 

“I killed her.”

 

But not that answer.

 

Shiro takes his own time to answer. He knows that Lotor’s generals betrayed him, but the reason why was unspoken, but even then, Shiro doubts that even Lotor, with his carefully calculated actions and reasoning, would have killed one of his generals for insubordination.

 

So he asks.

 

“Why her? Why not the rest?”

 

Lotor’s fingers are just at deft at moving across the screens as Allura’s are, and as he settles in a quadrant Shiro can vaguely recognize, Lotor’s lips settle into a strict grimace.

 

“Because she had become one of the witch’s puppets, and I could not tolerate that.”

 

They’ve learned in the short time since Lotor has joined the Coalition that Lotor almost never referred to Haggar by her name, and though Allura had her own speculations on the issue, Shiro had never minded. Haggar was, as far as Shiro was concerned, a soulless being, and after Zarkon’s death, most likely their greatest adversary.

 

“Did you regret it?”

 

Lotor’s fingers hesitate for a fraction of a second, and finally, Lotor laughs softly. Given the situation, it’s all too ironic, and in hindsight, he should have expected the words that escaped Lotor’s lips.

 

“What about you, Champion? Do you regret any of those lives cut so short by your hands in that arena?”

 

–

 

III.

It’s troubling to say the least, when he can’t remember anything about this supposed “subatomic  fusion”  Pidge’s words to be precise he supposedly experienced.

 

He can imagine it well enough, can guess that it’s something similar to Black’s own astral plane, a rift between the physical and psychological that the lion’s possessed, but never before had he forgotten about the experience.

 

What’s even worse is that he has a feeling that he hadn’t been there at all.

 

Logically, it makes no sense – after all, Pidge gives him enough shit for “showing up late”, and Lance asks him about what he was saying in the void, but the thing is that Shiro knows, down to the cells making up his toes, that he wasn’t there.

 

But who was?

 

The question haunts him as he wanders down the halls of the Castle, and he tries to ignore the uneasiness that’s invaded his being. Part of him attempts to quell the anxiety imprisoning his gut, reassuring him that it’s just paranoia, just a side effect of too many things happening in too short of a time, but he knows better, and he swears that he can hear Zarkon laughing at him from his grave.

 

He ventures into Black’s hangar for solace, and she lowers her head for him, rising only when he’s securely in the cockpit, but even when he’s seated, Black’s familiar presence comforts him.

He’s never managed to completely ease the apprehension that welled up whenever he stepped inside, and though Shiro had never given a third thought about why Black acted in such a peculiar way, he was beginning to understand why. 

 

He doesn’t know who he is anymore. 

 

Maybe it’s that uncertainty, sticking to him like a plague, that Black senses, or maybe it’s something deeper, something wrong with him down to the fundamental level. 

 

Or maybe she’s protecting him.

 

A small rumble of agreement is the only response he gets, and Shiro runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. What was she protecting him from? What was he missing? Why did it feel like someone was incessantly pounding through his head for answers?

 

With an annoyed groan, Shiro drops his head into his hands.

 

–

 

IV.

Oxygen deprivation is its own form of torture. 

 

He’s glad for the princess, he really is. It’s clearly important to both her and Lotor that they discover their mutual past, and when he watched them disappear into the white hole, he had been expecting a short period of time of self-discovery, all while they waited comfortably for the Castle’s systems to reboot. 

 

It doesn’t happen. 

 

He ends up in the hallway with Lance, and though the new Red Paladin is muttering on about how Shiro doesn’t have to babysit him, Shiro has other thoughts weighing heavily on his mind. 

 

Lance chalks it up to oxygen deprivation, and Shiro can’t deny the fact that though there seems to be only a little more freedom in the hallway, his lungs are starting to burn, working overtime as the ship’s systems remained silent. 

 

Hope slowly fades within the group, and Pidge mutters on and on about theories, but Shiro’s mind is preoccupied. 

 

The strange feeling in his mind hasn’t faded, even days later, and it almost feels as if he’s a bomb, ready to be set off at the flick of a switch.

 

The Princess returns then, accompanied by Lotor, and when the Castle comes back to life, cheers erupt, and Shiro notes that Allura’s presence seems lighter, ethereal, more whole. In contrast, even after his body rushes to accept the oxygen that brightens his vision, he notes something even stranger. 

 

He feels it, like a small soldier marching through his mind, a small sense of wrong. 

 

Allura wormholes them towards whatever system the Blades are currently hiding in, and though Shiro knows that this is his opportunity to see Keith after so long, there’s something else weighing much more on his mind. 

 

He pulls Lotor away for a moment, and he must of conveyed a sense of urgency because the Emperor follows. 

 

“What was wrong with Narti?” he asks, and he begs his own voice not to tremble, but Shiro can tell that Lotor has already caught on. 

 

“She was a puppet.” Lotor reiterates. “The witch could see what she saw, and I suspect that she danced however the witch liked as well.”

 

It’s the answer Shiro had expected. 

 

After all, it’s a sufficient explanation for the unexpected outbursts, for Black’s rejection, for everything that had been going wrong.

“Thank you.” He tells Lotor, and walks away.

 

–

 

V.

Shiro has a knife.

 

It’s nothing like Keith’s, but that’s to be expected since Keith’s dagger belong to a secret Galran organization, and Shiro’s is simply something he’s picked up along the way. It’s black, and the mechanism is surprisingly similar to a switchblade. 

 

He flicks it open now and lets his thumb trace over the sharp edge of the blade. It’ll do. It’ll have to do. Shiro walks into his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s waited hours, staring at the blade, and contemplating his decision. Was it the right thing to do? Could he do it?

 

It’s a small sacrifice he can make. 

 

He drags the tip of the blade across the bridge of his nose, outline the scar already resting there. There’s a surprising sense of calm, and when he places the point of the blade by his left eye, he takes a deep breath in. 

 

Then he cuts.

 

Blood, warm and thick, drips down his cheek, and Shiro looks at himself one last time - left eye bloodied, red accenting his cheekbones, his frame dwarfing the small bathroom all around him, before he lifts the blade again. 

 

He can hear footsteps now, growing louder and louder, and Shiro has no doubt that Lotor has most likely revealed Shiro’s odd line of questioning, and when he hears the lock to his bedroom disengage, he moves with accuracy, bringing the knife to his right eye. 

 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, though no one can hear him, and the last thing he sees is his bathroom door flying open, a mess of black hair and violet eyes staring back at him in the mirror, followed closely by those he knew all too well. 

 

“I’m sorry.” he repeats, and cuts.

 

It’s a small choice he can make, a small thing to guarantee the safety of those he loves. 

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo, mel
> 
> [Tumblr](http://fcllencngels.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](http://twitter.com/fcllencngels)


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